#breather fabric

[parknonwovenindia]

Protecting the Environment: The Importance of Oil Absorbent Pads in Spill Response

Oil spills, whether accidental or intentional, pose a significant threat to the environment. From industrial accidents to marine disasters, these incidents can have devastating consequences for wildlife, ecosystems, and human health. Effective spill response is crucial to minimizing environmental damage and ensuring a swift and efficient cleanup. This blog post will explore the vital role of Oil Absorbent Pads in oil spill response and how they contribute to environmental protection.

The Importance of Oil Absorbent Pads:

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High Absorbency: These pads are highly absorbent, capable of absorbing large volumes of oil in a short period.

Versatility: Oil Absorbent Pads are available in various sizes and thicknesses to suit different spill scenarios.

Ease of Use: These pads are easy to handle and deploy, making them ideal for emergency response situations.

Environmental Friendliness: Many Oil Absorbent Pads are made from environmentally friendly materials, minimizing the impact of the cleanup process itself.

PARKNONWOVEN: Providing High-Performance Oil Absorbent Pads

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Conclusion:

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[nonwovenfabricsupplier]

Discover Best Breather fabric from Park Non Woven. Explore yellow breather fabric, breathable nonwoven and fiberglass options from India's top breather fabric manufacturer.

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[a-ikuoliver]

happy birthday to the man!! — katsuki sees your sex toys once and is haunted by what you look like using them

pairing: bakugou x f!reader w/c: 1.5k warning/s: nsfw 18+, m! & f!masturbation; sex toys, i think that's everything notes: this is a bit short BUT i had to get something out for the man, this took me like 2 weeks to write but hopefully now i'll be out of my slump a little bit! pls enjoy c:

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

fuck… he really doesn’t know when the lines started to blur between friend and fantasy, from wanting to hang out with you to wanting you, from talking to you about your day to being bricked up hearing your voice. yet, here he was, hot water streaming down his neck, plastering damp hair to his forehead; the water pouring over his head nowhere near enough to wash his mind of you.

he’d been plagued by you, morning to night, even in his damn dreams since he tried to find a phone charger at your place.

it’s not like he was snooping, he wasn’t trying to find that sort of thing, bakugou was only trying to find your spare charger, he’d seen you put it in one of these drawers before, how was he meant to know you left your spare chargers right below all of that?

he’d slammed the drawer shut the absolute second he realised exactly what he was staring at; the bedside drawer stuffed to the brim with bright, phallic toys, a collection of smaller, rounder vibrators, something that looked awfully similar to a gag, and he heard the telltale metal clinking of at least one pair of handcuffs against the wood when he slammed it closed. embarrassing heat crawled up his neck, burning his cheeks and setting the very tips of his ears alight. stuck in the same spot, mouth half opened dumbly, his eyebrows creased in the centre of his face, all blood rushing from his brain down to his half-hard cock already straining against his pants, the need making him ache.

every hour since that, he’d spent thinking of what your wet cunt looked like swallowing the toys; so pretty and drippy, how it looked tensing around nothing when you came from the buzzing of your vibrator, how you’d look writhing and moaning handcuffed with that gag in your mouth, how your drool would stain your shirt, sticking the fabric to your skin. god, it was just so lewd, even under the purifying water, he felt dizzy, sticky, hot, sweaty, the image of your toys burnt into his retinas, no matter what he tried to distract himself with, he always saw your toys at the forefront of his mind, the perverted imagery refusing to budge from its newfound home.

bakugou groans, a deep, rough sound drowned out by the even buzzing echoing in his ears, the sound slowly building, kicking to a new level when your whine drowns it out. you always start nearly silent in his dreams, just tiny gasps escaping your parted lips when you’d nestle the toy right against your clit. you only get louder from there, your eyebrows scrunching together like his own were, marking two little tallies in the middle, tilting upwards at the centre as you pulled your lip up between your teeth. the motion did absolutely nothing to muffle your sounds, your whimpers and moans only growing louder with every heave of your chest, every passing moment with the vibrator pressed to your pulsing clit making your hips jolt into it.

you reach between your thighs with a whine that sounds all too similar to his name torn from your lips, dipping your fingertips in your slick cunt, collecting all the cum gathering at your trembling hole without even taking a breather from humping your vibrator like your life depended on it. your movements grew jerkier and jerkier the longer the intense vibrations were held to your drooling pussy, your eyes fluttering closed with a breathless shout of his name, shaky, wet thighs squeezing around your hand, even as the vibrator slipped from your grip, falling forgotten onto the sheets beneath you, the constant stimulation growing too much for you—

“fuck.” he really couldn’t help it, his hand travelling lower down his abdomen, trailing behind droplets of water still running down his torso to his hard cock, the tip already leaking from the thought of you. wrapping his fist around the base of his cock, he squeezed once before twisting his wrist, slowly jerking his cock, wondering if you were in your shower doing the same, fucking yourself on one of your toys imagining him in its place just as he wished it was your warm cunt squeezing around his dick instead of his hand.

“katsukiii—” bakugou can feel you beside him, your figure displacing the dense steam surrounding him, a heavy, thick silicone dildo hanging from the glass wall of the shower, your figure slick and soapy from the shower, damp hair sticking to the soft skin of your neck and face when you bent at the waist, lining the tip of the plastic cock up with your drooling hole. the head of the cock would slide into your cunt all too easily in his fantasies, always greedy to watch you take more and more, inch by inch sinking onto it. your mouth falls further open the more you take of the toy, the pleasure too much for you to even hold your head up by the time your ass was pressed against the cool glass, your back arching with the tip of the dildo nestled deep inside your cunt. he wonders if the curve of it would rub on your g-spot at this angle, if it would drive you crazy grinding against the glass, whining when you can’t take it anymore.

bakugou’s head falls back thinking of you reaching for the shower head, his cock pulsing in his hand when he grips the base, his muscles tensing and relaxing while he tried desperately not to cum; the image of you playing behind his eyelids making that a near impossible task. even with his eyes squeezed shut, there you are at the forefront of his mind, switching the settings of the shower head to a concentrated stream, aimed directly at your aching clit, your broken moan jolting his hips forward into his hand, stroking the length languidly. your voice wavered, repeating his name again, the stimulation inside and outside your cunt just so overwhelming.

bracing against the tile with your spare hand, you lift yourself back off the toy, the base suctioned to the glass remaining stuck as you grew quicker in your movements, starting to bounce and roll your hips in a smooth tempo. he matches the pace of your hips with his fist, his breath coming out in nothing but deep huffs. his uneven groans were nothing compared to your sweet chorus of moans and whines, an endless symphony playing in his head of “ah-ah-ah”’s and “mmmng”’s the closer you got, your cum coating the toy just like his pre was smearing all over his fist.

he can’t help the guttural sound that escapes him next, a garbled, broken version of your name when your thighs tremble, your knees only moments away from buckling from the pure bliss; the water is still aimed at your clit, even when you can’t bounce on the dildo anymore, wave after wave of pleasure drowning you until your eyes rolled into your skull and your cum gathered in a creamy ring at the base of the toy, your ass flattening against the glass as you greedily took more of the toy, intensifying the euphoria wracking through your body. he knows your toy fills your cunt so perfectly, knows how you’d hump the air to get more and more of the water aimed at your clit, unrelenting in chasing your orgasm, jolting and jerking until your knuckles turned white against the tile wall, until your voice was so high and loud it didn’t even sound like you anymore.

he wonders if you’d ever screamed taking the fake cock, if you’d ever been so overwhelmed you squealed, your pretty cunt clenching around the toy, milking the poor plastic for everything it can’t give you, or if he’d be the first to make you cum so intensely.

“ka-aa-ki—” you can’t even spit his name out, your name the same mess on his plump lips, caught so hard between sharp teeth he worries he’ll split the thin skin. all his muscles tense, his abdomen clenching low on his stomach, the veins stretching along the underside of his cock throbbing with the need to join you in the throes of pleasure, to cover your cunt in milk white cum you desperately tried to squeeze from the silicone.

your name is a choked mantra tumbling from his lips, over and over again, dark crimson eyes rolling into the back of his skull the longer you bounced on the toy, pinching sensitive nipples between your slippery, soapy fingers, dragging your orgasm out as long as you could, as long as he would, until your knees were weak and your couldn't even manage to dumbly spit out his name anymore.

“fuck.” he damn near whines, a mess of cum covering his fingers, coating his knuckles as he kept fucking his fist through the waves of his own orgasm, shivering even with the hot water running down his body, cleaning his hand even as he continued to stroke his cock, relaxing his muscles as his toes still curled, his knuckles stark white against the tile.

his head fell forward onto the cooling tile, a temporary relief for the haziness swirling around in the steam.

shit, how was he meant to look you in the eyes after this?

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[littlelamy]

𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒹𝓊𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

author's note: since i just graduated yesterday with my BS in psych (thank God it’s over!) i got inspired to write a short fic of rafe going to his girlfriend's college graduation!

The crowd is massive, a sea of proud families, flashing cameras, and students clad in caps and gowns. You scan the rows of chairs, barely listening as the ceremony unfolds. The dean’s speech drones on, and your thoughts wander. You’re not even sure if he came.

Rafe isn’t the type to sit through hours of pomp and circumstance. He hates crowds, hates sitting still, and formal events? Definitely not his thing. You wouldn’t blame him if he decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. But deep down, a part of you hopes—prays—that he’s here anyway.

As the rows ahead of you begin to move, the pit in your stomach grows heavier. Maybe you were expecting too much. Rafe has always shown he cares in his own way—through late-night drives, quiet reassurances, or the way his hands always find yours without thinking. But maybe this was asking for more than he could give.

Then you see him.

He’s standing off to the side, leaning casually against a pillar with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing a suit—dark and perfectly tailored, the kind of thing you only ever see him wear when Ward insists. His hair is slicked back, strands catching the sunlight in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

He looks good. Like, obscenely good.

But it’s his eyes that catch you—the way they find yours in an instant, piercing and steady, like he’s been looking for you this whole time.

When your name is called, you walk across the stage with shaky steps, trying to keep your composure. You’ve practiced this moment in your head a hundred times, imagined it down to every step and smile. But now, all you can think about is the boy standing off to the side, clapping louder than anyone else.

By the time the ceremony ends, the lawn is a chaotic mess of hugs, cheers, and cameras. Your family is pulling you in every direction—your mom fussing over your hair, your dad insisting on more pictures. You’re swept up in it all, but your focus drifts.

Rafe’s still there, leaning against his truck now. His sunglasses are perched on his nose, but you can feel his gaze, even from here.

You barely wait for an opening, mumbling something about needing a breather before weaving through the crowd toward him.

“Took you fucking long enough,” he drawls as you approach, his voice low and warm. His lips curve into a smirk, but his eyes are soft in that way that always makes your chest ache.

“You actually came,” you say, breathless, still a little stunned.

“Of course I came,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his gaze drags over you. “What kind of boyfriend skips his girl’s big day?”

“You hate crowds,” you point out, arching a brow.

“I hate a lot of shit,” he counters, leaning in slightly. “Doesn’t mean I’ll miss out on seeing you like this.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks betrays you. “Like what?”

“Like a fucking dream,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower as his thumb brushes against the fabric of your gown. “You should wear this more often. Or nothing at all. I’m flexible.”

“Rafe,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one overhears.

“What?” His grin widens, shameless as ever. “I’m just saying, you’re distracting.”

Before you can respond, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Speaking of,” he says, holding it up. “Smile for me, grad girl.”

“Rafe,” you groan, but he’s already snapping pictures, moving back to get the full view of you in your cap and gown.

“Hold still,” he orders, a teasing edge in his voice. “Need to get every fucking angle. Can’t let you look this sexy and not capture it.”

He steps closer, tilting his head as he snaps another. “Turn around,” he says, his voice dipping in a way that makes you shiver.

You roll your eyes but humor him, spinning slowly.

“Perfect,” he mutters, his eyes lingering in a way that’s anything but innocent. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.”

When he’s satisfied, he slips his phone back into his pocket and pulls you against him. “Think I’ll frame one of those,” he teases, his lips brushing your temple. “Hang it up in my room. Or maybe keep it in my wallet for when I need a reminder of how lucky I am.”

You laugh, but the sound catches when he leans down, his lips ghosting over yours.

“You’re unreal, you know that?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

Your reply is lost as he kisses you. It starts soft—tentative, almost—but quickly deepens as his hand tangles in your hair. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The world around you fades, the noise of the crowd becoming a distant hum. His lips move against yours with a kind of urgency, like he’s been waiting all day for this. When you part your lips, his tongue brushes yours, and a low growl escapes him, sending a thrill down your spine.

His hands tighten on your waist, sliding lower as he pulls you closer, almost lifting you off the ground. You whimper against his lips, and he chuckles darkly, breaking the kiss just enough to nip at your bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, his voice rough and unsteady. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

“Rafe—”

“Shh,” he cuts you off, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Don’t ruin the fucking moment. Let me look at you.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a shaky exhale. His gaze is intense, sweeping over every inch of you like he’s committing it to memory.

Finally, he grins, his hand dropping to squeeze your waist. “C’mon,” he says, tugging you toward his truck. “Your family’s probably looking for you, and I promised myself I’d behave in public. But later…” His voice dips, full of promises that make your cheeks burn. “Later, you’re fucking mine.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

credits: @dollywons for the png!

[yournightmary]

NSFW!Ellie HCs

content warning:: it’s nsfw… what do you expect?

AN:: Really short but I need to get it out of my head.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ This girl is nastyyy. She’s not scared to get her hands dirty… or her face. Or the rest of her body. I’m talking spit and cum dripping down her face, fingers pruned up from how long she’s been going at it and sheets literally soaking wet.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She has pierced nipples and wears thin tank tops just so they’re visible. They’re so sensitive she can cum just from you kissing her tits.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ When she’s horny she wants to give not receive!!! The only thing she can think about while ovulating is eating pussy.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ And she loves to do so! Hands down her favorite thing to do and favorite meal in the world. She’ll eat you out until you have to forcefully push her away and then she’ll act like a kicked puppy and beg for more.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loves getting and sending nudes. Always uses that ‘invisible ink’ function on imessages (she likes it because it’s kinda like a scratchcard, except it’s a guaranteed win)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Thinks it’s hotter to have some clothes on rather than be completely naked. Socks stay on during freaky time!!

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She’s a whiner and a heavy breather. Doesn’t really moan or whatever because she gets embarrassed about it later.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ A little happy trail…perchance?

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Sometimes she gets so desperate she’ll eat you out through your underwear. Bonus points if the fabric is a light color that darkens when wet.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ If you invite her over for a movie and try to get some action expect nothing. This girl is locked in, trying to understand the plot and catch every little detail. Unless she doesn’t like the movie… then it just becomes background noise.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ I firmly believe she is a boobies girl but if you’re on top of her she is squeezing your ass like a lifeline.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Gets really fucking horny after smoking weed. Literally works like an aphrodisiac for her.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ She always had a hard time finishing by herself, but once you started dating all hope was lost. Actually needs you to help her cum, even if it’s just you sitting by her side and talking her through it.

sometimes when I’m sad I look through your usernames and giggle to myself

[prodbymaui]

Aftermath — 이민형.

under the moonlight, you're all I need tonight

PAIRING: mark lee x gn reader

GENRE: lover duties

WORD COUNT: 1.1K+ words

WARNINGS: idol!mark, oral (mark receiving)

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend comes home exhausted, and your lover signal goes blaring. now you don't want anything other than to provide comfort and relief like he does to you.

A/N: just a little mark blurb, I wish someone is sucking him good every night especially when it's exceptionally tiring because he deserves it!

Everything had been hectic today. Mark’s schedule started at the ungodly hour of two in the morning, barely giving him time to wake up properly before rushing off to get his makeup done. From there, he was whisked straight to the KBS building for Music Bank’s pre-recording, which concluded around 5 AM. Instead of taking a breather, they moved immediately into filming content for a YouTube feature. No sooner had that wrapped than Mark found himself in a whirlwind jacket photoshoot for his new album. As if his day wasn’t packed enough, he went straight into the recording studio to touch up vocals for one of his tracks, only to head back to Music Bank again for the live broadcast. When that was finally over, his schedule dragged him back to the SM building, where he practiced with the Dreamies for a grueling two hours. And just when you thought his day might wind down, he ended it with a long meeting finalizing the details of his solo album.

By the time the door finally clicked open at midnight, your heart ached at the sight of Mark Lee shuffling in, his steps heavy and sluggish. His usually bright eyes were now nearly shut with sheer exhaustion as he wordlessly made his way to the bathroom. You watched him, your worry growing with each step he took. You didn’t even get the chance to remind him it wasn’t good to shower so soon after coming in. The words died on your lips as you were too caught up in observing the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of his day. It wasn’t news to you that your boyfriend had one of the busiest and most grueling schedules imaginable for an idol. Still, no matter how much you told yourself to expect it, you never quite got used to seeing him in this state—completely drained of the energy that usually lit up his every move.

Minutes later, when Mark finally emerged from the bathroom, he looked even wearier, if that was possible. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his clothes were sloppily thrown on, signaling just how little energy he had left for anything. He didn’t say a word as he trudged toward the bed, collapsing onto it without a second thought. It was hard to tell whether he hadn’t noticed you sitting nearby or if he was simply too tired to acknowledge your presence. Either way, you didn’t take it to heart.

Softly, you crawled into bed beside him, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. The gesture was simple but filled with all the love and comfort you wished you could give to soothe the ache of his day. You felt a quiet satisfaction when the corners of his lips curved upward in a small, unconscious smile.

“Tired?” You whisper against Mark’s ear, pressing yet another kiss.

Mark leans in to your touch, almost purring like a kitten getting pampered by his mom. But the tranquil comfort gets interrupted when your free hand slowly snakes its way down to the front of his sweatpants, resting on top of it just enough for Mark to feel your warmth through the fabric.

“Baby,” He mumbles, shuffling closer. “I can’t today, ‘m sorry.. So tired.”

The sigh coming out of his lips falls to deaf ear as your palm begins moving lightly along his hardening length. Mark hisses, hand threatening to grip the hem of your shirt. He relaxes a little eventually at your soft caresses on his scalp. Still, you could tell he’s in his thoughts again— by the way he’s unmoving in your hold and perform no reactions to your palm’s movements even in the slightest.

Therefore, you pull away from him. The fingers previously on his hair now sits gently on his cheeks.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything.”

With one last kiss on his lips, you slide downwards and meets the evident print of his cock. You trace it using your nose, grazing the pads of your lips if it catches, before tugging the bands to release his length. Using your spit as a makeshift lube, you watch how Mark’s body responds to your pumps of his cock, stimulating it all the while you move to lick along his balls. You nip lightly at his skin, just how he likes it. As expected, Mark exhales loudly, visibly more relaxed than earlier.

His whines pushes you to suck on one of his balls, fondling the other. Mark’s chest heaves up and down, your name slipping past his lips once or twice. The rim of your lips travels to his tip, sinking down to the base of his cock as you finally take him down your throat, providing Mark a pleasure he didn’t knew he needed at this moment.

“Fuck..” Mark sighs.

You bob your head, setting a steady pace that is not too much for you but is fast enough to bring Mark closer to euphoria. There’s no need of rushing things right now because none of this is about you. Tonight is all about Mark. Your ever hard-working boyfriend who shows nothing but competence, passion, and eagerness in everything he does. Your lovely boyfriend whose happiness is your happiness. It’s time to give back all the love he gave you in times you were in his position.

Mark’s arm covers his eyes as he pants, hips jerking involuntarily to thrust deeper in to your mouth. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, causing a choke from your end. It’s not a hinder to you as you recover immediately but Mark— God, Mark loves the feeling of you throat getting tighter as though it’s your pussy he’s fucking. He gasps, chasing the way it closes around him.

The more his high-pitched moans and desperate whines of your names escape his lips, the more your urge fuels inside you. You let your mouth moves on his length, letting him hit deeper and faster whereas your hand busies themselves traces the faint line of his abs and the other on his balls. You observe the way Mark’s face contorts at every movement from you until his fatigue finally melts as he releases down your throat, muttering sweet ‘thank you’s.

Licking the remaining drops of cum, you stretch a hand to the bedside and wipes down any saliva or cum left before returning the sweatpants back to where it is. After throwing the wet wipes to the trash can, you take a glance at Mark who’s already sound asleep before heading to brush your teeth and lays down beside him.

“You did so great today,” You peck his forehead, nose, and when your lips meet his, Mark wraps and arm around your waist— deepening the kiss before burying his face on your neck.

“Thank you, baby.” His hold gets a bit tighter. “Love you so much.”

[crescenthistory]

steady me, guide me, love me

Pairing: Barty Crouch Junior x Reader

Summary: After yet another fight, you have a serious talk with Junior about being careful, and he allows himself to be vulnerable with you.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: not proofread, references to duels, blood and bruised knuckles, hurt/comfort, reader is anxious and stressed for barty, talks of dying, reader is not matching barty's freak but it's because she loves him and wants him to take a breather, barty and reader have an emotional disagreement but i would not classify it as a "fight", kissingggggg, like one innuendo

Notes: this was originally going to be an entirely different fic and not at all this emotional, but then barty had a mind of his own and took over my writing. so i am simply not to blame

***

The torches lining the Slytherin common room flickered in the dim light of the early evening. A faint breeze swept through the castle, carrying the scent of damp stone and the promise of rain. The common room was unusually quiet for a Friday night – students scattered in clusters, engrossed in studying or murmuring in low tones about the latest drama from their shared classes.

Barty was not among them. 

You sat on one of the far couches, attempting to focus on your homework but mostly letting your mind wander. It wasn’t unusual for Barty to disappear, but you hadn’t seen him for hours now, and the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened as time ticked by. You knew him too well. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t good.

The door to the common room burst open with a loud thud, shaking the portraits on the walls. The students nearby jumped, startled, while your heart only jumped in recognition. Barty, his hair windswept, his tie undone, and his eyes gleaming with that feral, maniacal delight he wore like armour, strode in like he owned the place.

Trailing behind him, a faint scent of burnt fabric and… was that blood?

Your stomach clenched, and you shot up from the couch, abandoning your parchment as you hurried toward him. 

“Barty–” you began, but before you could even reach him, Barty’s voice rang out, sharp as ever.

“That was brilliant!” he declared, a wicked grin splitting his face. The students in the room shot wary glances at him before quickly looking away, clearly unwilling to be caught up in whatever this is.

You stopped in front of him, hands crossed over your chest, trying to keep your voice steady despite the surge of concern rising in your throat. “What did you do?”

His eyes flicked over to you, and for a brief moment, something in them softened, only for a moment – Barty wasn’t one to linger on emotions that exposed him.

“Oh, hi, Treasure,” he drawled, closing the distance between you in two strides. He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, the smell of singed air and danger still clinging to him. “You should’ve seen it. That prat, Avery, dared to insult us–”

“Barty, what did you do?” you repeated, your voice firmer this time. You gripped his arm, pulling him slightly away from the curious eyes in the room, off to the side.

His smirk widened, unbothered. “We duelled. A proper one. Out by the forest. Let’s just say…” He waved a hand dismissively, as if the details didn’t matter. “He won’t be insulting anyone for a while. Got a good lesson in fear.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. There was a faint smear of blood near the collar of his shirt – not his, you hoped – and his knuckles were bruised, like they’d been cracked against someone’s jaw. Clearly not just a magical duel. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, wanting to ensure he was good before you rip into him for putting himself in harm’s way again.

He half-scoffed at you, waving any concern off. “I’m here, ain’t I? I’m fine, Avery’s not the worst I’ve seen.”

“Barty, you can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, eyes darting toward the others in the common room. You lowered your voice even more. “You can’t keep getting into fights just because someone runs their mouth.”

“Can’t?” he repeated, his expression twisting into a mocking smile, though you could see some uncertainty in his eyes. “You know damn well I can, Treasure. I will. If some filthy coward thinks he can throw my name – our name – in the dirt, I’ll break him.”

“You’ll get yourself expelled, is what you’ll do,” you shot back, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Or worse – someone’s going to get seriously hurt. You can’t just throw yourself into these things because– because–”

“Because what?” Barty interrupted, his voice sharper than he usually was with you. His eyes bore into yours, demanding something you weren’t sure you could give him. “Because I care too much? Because I won’t let anyone talk down to us?”

There it was again, that us he always slipped in when talking about you and him. It made you stutter in more ways than one.

You sighed, staring at him for a minute. Your heart ached. You loved that Barty cared, albeit too much sometimes, but his obsession with proving himself, with protecting what he thought was his, was going to destroy him. You could see the cracks forming already.

“Come with me,” you said quietly, pulling on his arm again. This was not a conversation to be had here, not with a dozen of already too curious eyes watching. You needed to get him away, alone, where he could let down his guard fully and you could hopefully talk some sense into him.

His gaze flickered around the room, but he didn't put up a fight, he never did with you about these things. “Fine,” he muttered, letting you guide him out of the common room.

The hallways of Hogwarts were mostly deserted at this hour. The faint echo of your footsteps bounced off the stone walls as you led him down the stairs to a more secluded corner near the dungeons, where the stone was colder and the shadows thicker. Barty, as always, followed with a mix of curiosity and defiance in his eyes, the corners of his mouth still turned up in that maddening half-smile.

Once you were out of earshot from any stragglers, you stopped and turned to him. 

“Let me see,” you said, reaching for his hand.

Barty raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pull away as you gently lifted his bruised knuckles toward the dim light of a torch. The skin was split in a couple of places, dried blood smeared along his fingers. You swallowed the knot of worry in your throat, your thumb brushing against the cuts.

“What did he say?” you asked quietly.

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me,” you insisted, not looking up from his hand.

He sighed, his free hand coming up to run through his dishevelled hair. “Something about my father. About how I’m ‘just like him,’ bound to be a disappointment. Then he said something about you. Called you…” He trailed off, anger clearly still knocked fully out of him. “Well, I don’t think I need to repeat that.”

Your stomach twisted. Avery was known for being a bully, but dragging you into it, using Barty’s relationship with you as some kind of twisted insult, was beyond cruel. Not to mention, beyond stupid.

No wonder Barty had reacted the way he did.

You stopped your inspection of his hand, instead interlacing your fingers with his as you leaned back against the cold stone wall. “You can’t keep doing this, Barty,” you repeated, your voice softer now, the fight draining out of you. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand, really I do. But you can’t just… lose yourself every time someone says something cruel.”

He stepped closer, his intense gaze locking onto yours. “I’m not losing myself,” he said, his voice low, the words a steady pulse of loyalty. “I’m doing what’s necessary. What no one else will do. I’m keeping us safe.”

You shook your head, blinking back the frustration building in your chest. “And what if next time, it’s not just a duel? What if next time you really hurt someone and get in serious trouble for once? Or, gods forbid, they hurt you?”

Barty laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “They can try, Treasure. But they’ll have to be a hell of a lot smarter than Avery.”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, pushing off the wall and closing the space between you. You grabbed the front of his shirt, your fingers tangling in the fabric. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day, and I can’t–” Your voice cracked, the weight of your worry pressing down on you. “I can’t stand it.”

His smile faltered, and you saw the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. It was brief, but it was there, like a flash of lightning in a storm, gone before you could fully grasp it. 

His hands moved to your wrists, gently prying your fingers away from his shirt, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he held your hands in his against his chest, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow circles, grounding you in the moment.

“You worry too much,” he murmured, his voice softer now, as though the fight in him had dulled with the weight of your concern. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You think you do, but you don’t,” you whispered back, your voice almost breaking. “You think throwing yourself into danger is some kind of answer, that it’ll make you feel something, or prove something– either to them, or to yourself. I don’t know, but one day, Barty, it’s going to be too much, and you–”

You cut yourself off, biting down on your lip to keep your voice from shaking. You weren’t sure how to finish that sentence. Thoughts often consumed you of a world where Barty’s recklessness finally caught up to him, your own unhealthy way of coping with your feelings for him. He had his fists, you had your thoughts, and you both had your spirals. The thought of losing him scared you more than anything else.

His fingers tightened around yours, and his eyes flicked madly between yours and your lip you realised had quivered ever so slightly. For a moment, you thought he might agree, that he might actually take what you were saying to heart, but then that familiar smirk curled back up on his lips, and his mask slid into place again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice low, smooth, with that edge of defiance you knew so well. “Not unless you’re coming with me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. The way he said it, like it was so simple, like the idea of you not being by his side was unthinkable, made your chest tighten. But it didn’t erase the fear that gnawed at your insides, the knowledge that Barty didn’t care about consequences in the same way you did. He only knew how to burn, and he didn’t care if he burned out in the process.

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “You can’t keep fighting for me, Barty. I don’t need–”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. His eyes flashed, something dangerous sparking behind them. “Don’t tell me I can’t fight for you. Don’t tell me to sit back and let people say whatever the hell they want. You are mine to protect, Treasure, whether you like it or not.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. There it was again—that raw, possessive streak that ran through Barty like a current, so powerful it was almost overwhelming. The way he looked at you, like you were the one thing in the world that made sense to him, the one thing he could claim as his own, made your heart race. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this– something that hinted at what you both knew was there between you.

He never said “I love you,” never asked for anything, but this– this was his way of showing it. He’d destroy anything, anyone, who threatened what was his.

“I am,” you relented softly. “But I usually don’t need protecting. Not like this.”

Barty’s jaw clenched, and he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, the scent of smoke still clinging to him.

“Maybe not,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl. “But I need to protect you. Please understand.”

You froze at that, blinking up at him. His eyes were locked onto yours, and for once, there was no smirk, no playful deflection. Just raw, unfiltered passion. You could see the truth of it there, in the way his fingers held yours so tightly, like he was afraid to let go. 

In his eyes, you understood this part of him more closely. This was the only thing that made him feel like he was in control, like he had some kind of power over the chaos in his life. His father’s expectations, the pressure to be perfect, the constant disappointment looming over him. It all faded when he was with you. With you, he wasn’t a failure. He was needed because he was yours.

Heat rose in your cheeks, the air between you thick with unspoken words, unspoken feelings. His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, sending shivers up your arm. You closed your eyes, trying to find the words, but they stuck in your throat. 

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I… I do understand. But for the same reason, I need you to be safe.”

He swallowed and nodded briefly, his hair falling into his eyes, and consequently yours, black and green strands filling your vision. You laughed a bit, tension clearing for half a second, as you freed one of your hands to push his hair away. You let your hand trail down to ghost across his cheek and jaw.

“Stop treating yourself like you don’t matter,” you whispered.

Whatever remnants of a self-assured smile he had clung to were wiped from his face. He just stared at you, his eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to say. Slowly, as if he was unaware his body was moving, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned further into you, allowing the wall you were leaned against to keep you both upright.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Yet you could read his lips – a soft do I? – and you let your hand hold his jaw more securely, as you whispered, “You do, Barty. You do. To me.”

Barty didn’t look at you. His jaw was clenched, his eyes staring down at the stone floor as if it held the answers to everything. For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, retreat behind that mask of bravado and chaos that he wore so well, but then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours, and the raw pain in his eyes nearly took your breath away.

“You really are all I have,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I lose you because of some tosser–”

“You won’t,” you cut him off, flattening your other hand over his heart, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. “You won’t lose me, Barty. I’m not going anywhere. And neither will you, because I’m not letting you. Wreak havoc as much as you please, but I beg you to be careful.”

Barty’s eyes softened, and he mustered a small smile for you, the one you loved the most. “Well, you know I love it when you beg,” he teased, smile widening when you rolled your eyes and joke scoffed at him. You couldn’t hide your grin – exactly what he was aiming for.

“Very funny, Junior, but I do mean it.”

“I know you do,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. Then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it: “I’m sorry.”

Before he could say another word, you shook your head, humming in disagreement. “Don’t apologise, love, not for caring.”

“No, no. Just sorry for worrying you, s’all.” His eyes remained shut, and your heart ached in acknowledgement of how hard that must be for him to say.

“All I need you to do is be a bit more careful in your chaos and mischief, ‘kay?” You moved your face tentatively closer to his, admiring his features when his guard is down.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, opening his eyes to look into yours with a small smile playing across his lips. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and affection. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just… stay with me.”

For a moment, there was silence. The flicker of the torchlight cast long shadows on Barty’s face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his lips parted like he was about to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

His hands were still on your face, warm and grounding, and you leaned into his touch, feeling the heat of him against your skin. Your nose barely brushed his as you did, and you could swear his breath hitched. With so much raw emotion in the air between you, you let your heart dictate your actions, and you closed the small gap between you, kissing him tentatively.

It was far from the first kiss you and Barty shared, but it was much softer than the others. This was not a drunken party kiss, neither of you were aiming for distraction or entertainment. It felt oddly pure as he kissed you back passionately, but slowly, allowing it to hang between you. This was him letting you in, letting himself be intimate and vulnerable.

“I’ll stay with you,” Barty finally whispered once you separated ever so slightly, his voice so low it was barely audible. “Always.”

He said it with such conviction, such raw honesty, that you knew he meant it. The knot of anxiety that had rested strongly in your chest loosened at his words, reassurance and safety washing over you. 

“Then stop fighting like you’ve got nothing left to lose,” you said softly, your fingers tracing along his neck. “Because you have me, and I'm not letting you go.”

“I have you,” he repeated, looking as if he was deep in thought. His hands tightened on your face, expression hardening for a moment. 

“I want you to know that I’m not on some ego power trip, I’m not like that.” He trailed off, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t quite find the right words. “It’s about making sure they know I’m not weak. That we’re not weak. It makes me feel, I don’t know… safer.”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, smiling to reassure him. “I know you’re not. You’re… scared, which probably feels even worse. But we are okay, we’re fine.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with something – doubt, maybe, or fear. It was rare to see him uncertain, for a boy who usually lived in absolutes and extremes. You knew how hard it was for him to let anyone see the cracks in his armour, even you, but there was a part of him, the part that clung to you like you were his lifeline, that wanted to believe you. The part you needed to foster.

He let out a shaky breath, nodding slightly again, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the tension between you shifting into something more intimate. His hands slid down from your face to rest on your shoulders, then your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, entirely flush against one another.

“I’m not scared,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. It was like he was speaking to himself more than you.

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Liar.”

A huff of laughter escaped his lips, though it was tinged with exhaustion. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his tone softening in a way it rarely did with anyone but you. “Can you blame me?”

“I never blame you, love.” You leaned down to rest your head against his shoulder, feeling his breathing move you. He hummed at that, but didn't move to say anything else.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Barty,” you whispered, playing with his hair. “I just need you to stop tearing yourself apart. I just need you to let me care for you like you care for me.”

His arms tightened around you, and you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was still fighting some internal battle you couldn’t fully understand.

“You make it sound so easy,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s not,” you said quietly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Barty was silent for a long time, his arms still wrapped around you, his breath slow and steady against your hair. You could feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on him, the years of anger and frustration and fear that he’d carried with him for so long. Then, you felt him press a hard kiss to the crown of your head.

“You’re the only thing that makes me feel like… like I’m not falling apart,” he admitted, his words barely above a whisper. Your heart clenched at his confession, and you lifted your head to look up at him. 

“You’re not falling apart,” you said softly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Not while I’m here, I won’t let you.”

Barty’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite name, and before you could react, his lips were on yours again, soft, tentative, but full of the intensity you had come to expect from him. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you could feel the raw desperation in his kiss, the way he was clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

When his lips left yours, his face barely moved, noses still touching and his breath fanning your face. The both of you stood breathing heavily in the quiet hallway, and you came to realise how grateful you should be no one had walked past yet. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for some kind of confirmation that you were still there, that you hadn’t disappeared.

Barty’s lips curled into a small, tired smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a flicker of peace in his eyes.

“I’ll be good. Just… stay with me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Always.”

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hey, hun is it possible to do a part 3 of Muzan with reader with big boobs or even do a version with Kokushibo please?🥺

*runs to her laptop so fast she breaks the sound barrier*

Yup!

(I'm just gonna do Muzan for right now- I'm kinda struggling to figure out Koky's character)

NSFW below the cut.

Also, for those who haven't read it, here is PART 1 and PART 2 of the Muzan x boobs saga.

MUZAN x boobs pt 3.

You're not exactly sure when the Infinity Castle became your permanent residence but you never seem to leave anymore.

In the beginning, Muzan would always come to your place for his titty sucking stress relief sessions, but if there's one thing the Demon King truly despises it's minor inconvenience.

So, you're lying on a plush pillow, reading one of his botany books in a cozy room of the castle when the sliding door flies open with so much force it smashes against the wall. Splinters of wood rain down onto the floor.

You don't even flinch. You're used to his tempers by now.

He's back from his trip to Asakusa and grumbling about hanafuda earrings and sun breathers

"Tits. Now."

You pull open your kimono with one hand, not even looking up from your book.

(If you wore bras before you've given up by now; Muzan just shreds them to bits anyway and those bitches are expensive.)

He moves with supernatural speed, and before you can even blink he's taken your place on the pillow and you're sat straddling him.

Then he pulls your upper half down on top of him, completely smothering him with your chest.

You're still engrossed in the book as he slowly licks around your areola, following the path of ridges and bumps before tickling your nipple with the tip of his tongue.

A shiver runs through your body but you keep reading, because you just got up to the chapter about the strange blue flowers which you used to weave into crowns at your grandmother's house when you were little and-

He snatches the book from your hands and tosses it across the room and into the fireplace, emerging from between your breasts to glare at you.

Muzan is just as shocked as you are by his apparent annoyance at your lack of attention. Why should he care if you're enjoying it or not? This is for his satisfaction, not yours... and yet...

He makes it his mission then to make sure you cannot ignore him.

He sucks your tits with such ferocity you feel tingles all the way down your spine and throbbing at your core.

Grips your wrists and pins your hands to the pillow above his head so your tits are hanging in his face; soft and defenceless against his wicked tongue.

He groans as he bends a knee to wedge his thigh between yours, applying such delicious pressure.

Kneads your tits with his slender fingers, trailing his pointed fingernails lightly around the undersides, making goosebumps raise over your skin and eliciting the first whimper.

Yess... he wants more of that.

He chuckles cruelly as he feels you grind against his thigh, his tongue unrelenting as he laps at your aching buds.

While his mouth is occupied, tugging one of your nipples between his lips and making them swell and harden, his fingers work the other; massaging, teasing, tugging until they're so puffy and dark, glistening with his saliva.

On and on it goes, until you're gasping his name amongst curses. Your grinding becomes frantic and arrhythmic, and the sweltering heat of your sex presses through the fabric of his trousers.

You're close... so... damn... close...

Then he lowers his knee, taking away the friction

(this asshole- istg)

He continues licking your nipples as you whine, taking sick satisfaction from the way you so desperately try to hump his hips, craving release.

"Beg me."

Even if you do, he'll keep up this give-and-take until you're a bleating mess.

He doesn't want your breathy "please Muzan, let me cum," he wants you sobbing.

And only when your tears come does he roll you onto your back, wedge his thigh back between yours and permit you to bring yourself release.

"Such a pathetic harlot," he whispers, his voice laced with darkness and desire as he watches you cum. "My pathetic harlot."

Strums his thumbs over your swollen nipples to make your body jolt as you come down from your high.

You lay there, whimpering and exhausted as he lowers his head, nuzzling your chest.

Is he... snuggling?!?

"What the hell happened in Asakusa?" you ask.

He simply closes his eyes and "sleeps" with one hand cupped over your breast, finally a little calmer.

[sweetimpurity]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ day 20!! time is flying by wow enjoy!! love ya! wc: 534 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Thinking about Miguel pulling your panties to the side but also fucking into the fabric and painting them with his cum. Maybe you’re just begging for a break. Your little pussy aching for a breather. “Please baby! I can’t- I can’t… need a break!” You whine. Shushed by his deep husky voice telling you to breathe. 

Maybe it’s been hours and he’s split you, spread you, stretched you on his cock. Pulling out with a slick pop and hearing the sigh of relief that leaves you.

Pushing his dick through your plush ass and wrenching your panties out of the way. Watching the way your flesh spills over the sides, lifting it up with a finger and letting it snap against your skin already slapped raw. 

You’re a panting mess on the pillows, face down and clutching the blankets in your hands. He’s just relentless, heaving and huge behind you. And the knowledge that he’s not done yet fills you with an orgasmic mix of dread and excitement. The hormonal surge from numerous orgasms does make you feel incredibly heavy though.

He’s needy to come. He’s already brought you to orgasm five or six times already. Never letting himself succumb once yet. Staring down at your perfect ass and hearing your breath against the pillows. He kneels forward, pressing through your plush asscheeks and jutting his tip into the pink flowery material of your underwear.

“Hahh…” He sighs, almost a growl, just watching his cock rub over your skin, engulfed in the soft lacy material, practically jerking himself off into it. And feeling the soft warm roundness of your bum on the underside of his shaft still wet with your slick. Such a pleasant sensation, making his fingers dig into your thigh, holding you still and steady. 

“Fuck-” He huffs, nearing his end. Rutting into your panties, over your skin, his dick eventually slipping between your thighs and fucking between the fabric of your panties and the slick warmth of your folds. Not daring to penetrate your already aching core. Not when you’ve already been such a good girl for him. But close enough to feel the heat that radiates.

Finding his high in the heat between your soft thighs. Humping into you and moving a hand up to your shoulder blade to push you down into the mattress. Groaning and gripping himself as he comes, shooting his load all over your ass, on your panties. Staining the material. Huffing and catching his breath, his abdomen clenching and tensing in aftershocks. 

“Baby… corazón…” He whispers, brushing some hair off your neck so he can see the side of your face. Wondering if that was enough time to recover. His mind hazy with thoughts of sex and your body, of always wanting more. “You ready?” 

He leans over you, pressing to your back, catching a glimpse of your face. Your features relaxed in sleep. His little baby sleeping. His own features relaxing into a soft smile, nuzzling into your cheek with feather light kisses. Whispering sweet little praises into your ear. Of how good you've been. How happy he is with you. He sits up, kissing down your back as he does. Getting off of you, off the bed to get a warm wash cloth so he can clean you up. 

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

[03jyh23]

— i haven't kissed you yet today || choi san

genre: fluff

trigger warnings: none

words: 900

reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! this request was in my inbox for an unholy amount of time. currently, i need some breather from all the angst im working on and i decided to give this request a shot! hope my lovely anon will enjoy this small piece of work!

love, monika. ♡

if you enjoyed this post, i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

You were lying on your bed, the soft comforter providing a comforting warmth. The setting sunbathed the bedroom in a beautiful golden light. It was a lazy day, with your activities limited to fetching food or using the bathroom while binge-watching your new favorite series. In recent weeks San's schedule become incredibly hectic due to his idol responsibilities, leaving him little time for his boyfriend duties. He had left home early today again, and you were somewhat upset that he hadn't woken you up to say goodbye. Picking up your phone, you contemplated sending a message, but decided against it, not wanting to add to his already overwhelming responsibilities. Instead, you nestled deeper into the comforter. After several hours of continuous watching, even the most interesting series could lose its charm. So, you decided it was time to close your laptop and give your eyes a much-needed rest. You twisted and turned, trying to find that perfect spot. The bedroom was silent, save for the occasional rustling of the sheets. The golden hues of the setting sun had long faded, replaced by the soft glow of the moonlight seeping through the window. 

Awoken by the noise of unlocking doors, you were in a half-asleep, half-awake state. You clung to your comforter, pulling it closer to your body in a futile attempt to stay asleep. Its weight seemed to keep you in your dreams, but reality kept intruding. You heard the rustle of fabric as San removed his jacket, the sound a testament to the long day he must have had. Following that, the muted thud of his bag hitting the floor echoed in the quiet room. A few heartbeats later, the soft patter of his steps grew louder as he approached the bedroom. Soon after, you heard his footsteps getting louder as he came towards the bedroom. The bed dipped slightly under his weight as he slid in beside you. You could feel the warmth radiating from your boyfriend, his scent filled your nostrils, combining his faded cologne and a faint hint of sweat. 

"Baby?" San murmured, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. "Are you awake?" he asked gently, trying not to startle you. Despite your best efforts to remain asleep, the sound of his voice pulled you towards consciousness. You hummed in response, still unwilling to open your eyes. He chuckled softly at your response. "I'm sorry I came home late," he whispered, his voice laced with guilt. 

You shrugged lightly, turning your face to him. "It's okay," you mumbled, your voice muffled by the comforter. "I'm just glad you're home." He smiled in the darkness, pulling you closer. His arms wrapped around you, providing a warmth far better than any comforter. 

San leaned closer, his face just inches from yours. "You know," he said, his playful voice filled with affection, "I haven't kissed you yet today." 

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You chuckled softly, looking into his eyes. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" you replied, barely a whisper against the intimate silence. With a gentle, almost shy smile, San closed the small distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. It was the kind of kiss that made time seem to slow down, each moment lingering in the sweet love between you. "Better?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Much better," he replied, his thumb tracing a soft line along your jaw. "But I think I need one more, just to be sure." 

You chuckled softly, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you. "Well, if you insist," you teased, your lips finding his once more. It was just you and San, wrapped up in each other, sharing a perfect moment. It was a reminder of why you loved him so much, and why, despite the hectic schedules, you wouldn't change a thing. 

San pulled you in closer, your head now resting on his chest. You could hear the steady rhythm of his heart beating, a comforting lullaby in the quiet room. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for longer than usual. "Goodnight, baby," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and affection. As the whisper left his lips, you felt a sense of calm envelope you. The day's stress seemed to melt away with your boyfriend's comforting presence. A soft sigh escaped you, content as you drifted to sleep, nestled securely against him. San's hand gently ran through your hair, the action absent-minded yet filled with affection. It was a simple gesture, one that he probably wasn't even aware of, but it spoke volumes about his feelings for you. It was these moments, the quiet, intimate exchanges when it was just the two of you, that made everything worth it. You knew that no matter how hectic life got, you'd always have these moments to look forward to - the quiet nights spent in each other's arms, the shared laughter and whispered words of love. As you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, you knew that despite the challenges, there was nowhere else you'd rather be. 

[parknonwovenindia]

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

hi there, could I get poppy playtime (if that is to many characters then just catnap and dogday are fine) with a reader that has pica (if you don't know what that is it is where a person can tend to eat or bite on things not edible, like paper, erasers, eca)

I can do a few!

.....

Huggy (saved/rescued) + Poppy

While in his "idle mode" on the podium, he sees you munching on a piece of paper like lettuce and then plush stuffing like it's cotton candy.

And then you just snatch the key from him and move onto the next puzzle, and he goes "???????"

Why did you eat those things? Did they somehow sustain your hunger?

Huggy only gets to learn more after you save him from falling (and tame him with an actual edible snack you brought along), taking a breather after freeing Poppy from her box.

When he grabs one a random paper, you assume he wants to draw something as a way to communicate...until he starts chowing it down.

In his mind, humans DO eat paper and he's been starving and cannibalizing toys (and trying to eat you) for nothing...

But then he spits it out, picking shredded bits out of his teeth, before glaring at you as if you told him to eat that.

You're a little scared and confused until Poppy explains that he was only trying to mimic what you do, and she asks why you eat such random little things.

Eventually you explain to the pair of your condition called "pica".

You've had it most of your life, with an official diagnosis to boot, but it never really hurt your digestive tract.

Over the years you've cut the habit, although being stuck in this factory meant you had to find other sources of food...even those not even considered food at all.

Some of your coworkers knew about it, and their only complaint was the occasional eraser going missing thanks to you (which you deny stealing...most of the time).

"I always joke about having a cast-iron stomach," you tell the toys. "Food is the least of my......"

But you pause and look at Huggy, realizing he might be offended by you shrugging off food as negligible to your survival.

No matter what, though, it's not gonna stop him from trying different non-food items and seeing what tastes good.

He might've eaten pieces of clothing and plush fabric/stuffing over the years, albeit none of it was delicious by itself.

Dogday

"They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit--fill what feels empty inside themselves."

"Jesus, that sounds horrific." You say as you crunch on a piece of chalk (one of several that you got from the schoolhouse) nonchalantly.

Dogday takes immediate notice and is rather concerned. He knows the chalk and crayons here are made to be non-toxic, but insists they're not safe for human consumption.

He fears it's gonna kill you and begs you to stop, saying you needed to live.

Before you could fully explain your condition, the mini-critters are closing in, so you free him and haul ass out of the playhouse of horrors.

After making it somewhere safe where you could patch him up, he presses you on why you continue to eat all these foreign objects.

But he jumps to the conclusion that you got desperate after running out of food, going mad from hunger like the other toys did...

He recalls Picky Piggy going through something similar, and he gets a bad flashback to the Hour of Joy when he had to stop her from eating Crafty's paint....and the corpse of a Smiling Critter -

"Dogday? Hey stay with me..it's okay. I'm here, I'm here.." You console him, calming him down from his panic attack. "I'm not going crazy, alright? I just have this small condition called pica."

"...p-pica? Oh. I thought...kids grow outta that.." He mutters, finding familiarity with that term.

He's had his fair share of toddlers putting things in their mouth that could be choking hazards.

You shake your head, explaining that it stuck with you, but it doesn't cause your stomach any pain as long as you're careful about what you eat.

Dogday's relieved you're not losing it.

Even so, though, he's gonna feel nervous if he catches you eating another piece of chalk.

But it's just his instincts as a child caretaker, so you couldn't blame him.

Catnap

He hangs out in the shadows for the most part, watching your every move...and he does pick up on your strange habit of eating non-food objects.

It's something orphaned toddlers in the playhouse often did, and he'd see the other Smiling Critters hurry to take the items away from them before any emergencies happened.

But those memories mean nothing to him.

All he's doing is waiting for you to eat the wrong thing and keel over.

Unfortunately for him, you just keep trudging on, munching on a crayon like it's normal before throwing your gas mask back on.

He doesn't know how you manage to stomach so many things, and honestly is kinda envious.

Why can't he and the others sustain their hunger like you did?

It does make for some rather..amusing situations, though. Such as when you're in the smoke factory and use the elevator to escape him.

You just stand there as the doors close, eating some chalk and crunching it loudly without breaking eye contact with Catnap's horrific eldritch form.

Obviously, you're stress-eating at that point, but he doesn't have to know.

Miss Delight

The schoolhouse was like a cafeteria for someone with pica, aka you.

While looking for generators, you just pick up whatever you find: erasers, chalk, crayons, etc. and start biting them, or even chewing and swallowing them.

It only succeeds in angering Miss Delight right away, as she sees you doing all of this and snaps at how "childish" you are for eating things you shouldn't.

But you when shout back that you have pica, the PA system suddenly goes quiet.

Like Dogday and Catnap, that definitely triggered some memories for her, which she dwells on for a while before realizing you were still in the school..

And seeing you eating stuff makes her howling stomach grow louder.

"Barb" says you're mocking her own hunger, especially since she notices you gathering the notes she left around the place, and insists on killing you.

When you finally do encounter her, she is visibly disturbed by you crunching on a piece of chalk and throwing it to the ground to distract her, buying you time to break eye contact and flee.

She calls you "crazy", but you're not the one chasing her with a weapon made of a ruler and colored pencils.

[pickingupmymercedes]

I want South - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +2K

a/n: That top, those arms, THAT CHEST. Blame Lewis and his ability to get me horny.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

The rhythmic clatter of her keyboard barely registered as Y/N navigated the labyrinthine spreadsheet on her laptop. Hours had melted away since Lewis had disappeared into the steamy confines of the bathroom, a hasty "Good luck with the media" thrown over her shoulder. Between the complex financial reports and the incessant ping of emails, she hadn't even noticed him leave.

Reaching a dead end, she leaned back in her chair, stretching out her neck. A quick scroll through Instagram was supposed to be a five-minute break, a mental breather before diving back into the work abyss. But instead, her breath caught in her throat as her feed exploded with photos. Lewis. In a tank top, but not just any tank top, mind you, but a ridiculously glittery low cut one that seemed determined to defy all laws of physics and hold onto what little fabric remained.

The offending garment offered more real estate to his sculpted arms and chest than it did to any semblance of modesty.

Oh, the audacity of that man. Knowing full well the chaos he could unleash with a single outfit choice, he'd strolled into the paddock like a bronzed Adonis on display. A playful desire to ruffle his feathers bubbled up, even if he was likely neck-deep in an engineer's meeting. Picking up her phone, she crafted the first text.

Y/N: "I want to go south."

A beat. Then another. Finally, a reply popped up on the screen.

Lewis: "What are you even talking about?"

She smirked. Clearly, her cryptic opener didn't land, so time to up the ante.

Y/N: "Your compass, baby. I want south."

There. A hint. A playful nudge in the direction of his, shall we say, exposed assets. Silence again. Maybe the meeting was more intense than she thought. Or maybe – just maybe – Lewis was finally catching on.

Lewis: "Are you stalking me on social media?"

A triumphant grin stretched across her face. He finally saw it. The news articles, the fan reactions, the absolute frenzy his outfit had caused.

Y/N: "Tits out Thursday?" she sent, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. "Or is it guns out all week?"

Another, longer pause this time. The anticipation was delicious, she was having way too much fun with that. Finally, his response arrived.

Lewis: "Wth with people not behaving on main?!"

Y/N: "At least Derik put something on you that covers the nipples. This time."

Suddenly, her phone buzzed violently. Not a text, but a video call. She answered with a raised eyebrow, ready for the fire Lewis was sure to unleash. But instead, the screen showed a face flushed, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

"You're in serious trouble" he said, his voice low and almost husky.

"Oh, am I?" she countered, meeting his gaze with a smirk.

He chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. "When I get back to the hotel, prepare for a south-bound exploration"

The line went dead, leaving her hot under her shirt and a flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

Y/N eventually managed to refocus on her work, the playful banter with Lewis now a pleasant distraction lingering in her mind. But as the clock ticked on, the anticipation of his return began to build.

It was a couple of hours later when the door to their hotel suite swung open, and Lewis stepped in, now wearing a Mercedes shirt and the infamous top in hand. He leaned against the wall, clearing his throat until she looked at him, his gaze intense.

"Hello, miss explorer” he let out with a low voice, holding out the top that had cause do much distraction.

Y/N made a show of looking down at one of his t-shirts she had been wearing since the morning, no bras or shorts under, taking if off and leaving her in only lace panties. With a playful smirk and her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she threw the shirt on the bed and sauntered confidently towards him to retrieve the tank. “Thank you, Eric, I’d say” her voice full with amusement

As she took the top from his hand, she noticed how uncomfortable he seemed in his pants, a smirk playing on her lips. She enjoyed the teasing, reveling in the power she held over him in this moment. Putting on the tank, the piece of clothing hung dangerously low on her frame, the strings that were meant to be all the way to her shoulders acting as covers to her nipples. She could feel his gaze burning into her, and she savored every moment of it.

He swallowed hard at the sight, his eyes darkening with desire as she stood before him, clad only in the top and lace panties. The tension between them crackled in the air, a silent challenge passing between them as they locked eyes.

As Lewis closed the distance between them, Y/N could feel the tension in the air thickening. With each step he took closer to her the more he seemed to tower over her frame, even if they were almost the same size.

His eyes gleamed with amusement at her feistiness, but there was something more, something primal and undeniable simmering beneath the surface. She met his gaze through her lashes, a coy smile playing on her lips as she watched him approach.

His hand reached out, fingers grazing her cheek gently, sending shivers down her spine. Y/N's breath hitched as she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

Lewis tilted her chin up with a feather-light touch, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her heart race. There was a silent question hanging between them, a wordless invitation that neither of them could ignore.

Unable to resist any longer, he closed the remaining distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss. It was like fire and ice colliding, a whirlwind of passion and desire consuming them both.

Y/N melted into him, her hands finding their way to his neck as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the intoxicating taste of him. There was no room for restraint now, no need for words as Lewis lifted her effortlessly, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

As he laid her down on the bed, a last lingering kiss was exchanged before he stepped back, his gaze dark with desire as he pushed his shirt off, revealing the toned muscles of his chest.

Her fingers went straight to undo his belt and push his pants and underwear down, eager to feel his skin against hers. But he seemed in a hurry for no reason, his movements frantic and impatient.

"Hey," Y/N murmured softly, her voice a gentle reminder of the moment they shared. "Let me savor this."

He paused, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of longing and anticipation, he breathed, his voice husky with desire. "I can't get enough of you."

A tender smile graced her lips as she reached out to trace the compass tattoo on his chest, a silent reminder of her first text that afternoon. "I still want South, you know…" she whispered, her touch feather-light against his skin.

His breath hitched at her touch, a shiver running down his spine. "How could I forget?" he murmured; his voice laced with desire. Her fingers continued to trace the intricate lines of the compass tattoo on his chest, each featherlike touch sending a shiver of anticipation through his body.

Lewis sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her gently into his lap, their bodies fitting together. She was straddling him and had full access to his tattooed chest. He leaned back slightly, allowing her to explore every inch of the inked design with her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.

"South, huh?" he replied, his voice husky with desire. " I'm more than willing to be your guide."

In her inner thigh she could feel his already semi hard dick, slightly jerking each time she moaned mid kiss into Lewis’ mouth. His fingers sent butterflies into her stomach each time he grabbed at her skin, almost as if he was searched for something to ground him to earth.

Unable to resist the pull of their desires any longer, her hands slid down his chest, reaching for his cock, but she stopped short when she heard him moan. "Okay there, champ?" she teased, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

His hands immediately went to her covered pussy, covering her whole pelvis as his gaze held hers, desire burning in his eyes. "More than okay," he replied, his voice husky and low.

She chuckled softly, her fingers trailing lightly along his jawline as she leaned in to place a tender kiss on his lips. "I don’t think I could wait much longer" she murmured against his mouth, her breath mingling with his in the intimate space between them.

Y/n didn’t have to repeat for Lewis to pull her lace lingerie to the side and pull her up on his laps, brushing his tips a few times in her sleek, mixing hers to his own “No need for lube” his smile beaming with pride as he reveled in the fact, he could always get her there, even with almost no foreplay.

“Gloating then, are we?!” one of her hands came to wrap around his in his dick, signaling that she was more than ready and willing to take control. He let her, wrapping his fingers in her hips and paying his full attention on her face, waiting to see it contort with pleasure as she sunk into his hard member.

Her walls enveloped him tightly, her moans sending his own body into overdrive. She stopped and steadied herself halfway through, her controlled breathing a stark contrast to her beating heart. He caressed the skin between her hips and ass to sooth her, his touch gentle and reassuring.

Her head fell to the side as she resumed the descend until their thighs touched and her clit hit his pelvic bone “Gosh, you always make me so full”, she gasped, her voice a mixture of pleasure and desire.

He matched her rhythm with slow, deliberate thrusts upwards, his movements syncing perfectly with hers as they moved together in a dance of passion and desire. With each thrust, he felt her walls clench around him, her moans growing louder everything his dick brushed past that sweet spot.

Just as he felt her walls start to flutter around him, he reached for her clit, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. With one angled thrust, she shattered, her body convulsing with pleasure as she reached her climax, her moans filling the room as he pulled himself up and held her convulsing legs, savoring the feeling of her release still buried inside her.

As Y/N came back from her high, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks, she felt a sense of contentment wash over her. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on her back on the plush covers and pillows, Lewis's face inches from hers, his member still buried deep inside her.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice husky with a sweetly sick smile playing on his lips. With a swift movement, he pulled his top down from her body, exposing her breasts from the straps on both sides, and gave each of them a tender kiss.

Just as she thought he would linger in this moment of tenderness; his eyes grew dark again. Without warning, he started to hammer into her, his movements urgent and frenzied. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she surrendered to him.

His hands held her legs up, allowing him to penetrate her even deeper, his thrusts driving her wild with ecstasy, her nails finding in his chest the place to sink and ground her.

As Lewis picked up the pace, the rhythm of their bodies melded into one, each thrust driving them closer to the edge. A thin layer of sweat coated their skin, aiding the glide of his body on hers as they moved together.

As he approached his release, his movements became more urgent, more desperate, his need for release evident in every grunt. When she felt him start to falter, his thrusts losing their rhythm, his hands reached for her ass, pulling them apart to allow impossibly deeper access to her.

With each thrust, his tip hit her cervix, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She felt herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, her hands inadvertently reaching for his ass to try and make him thrust deeper, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their movements.

And just as she thought she couldn't take any more, she came undone, her body convulsing with pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed over her again. Lewis wasn't far behind, his own release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless.

But as he spilled himself into her, filling her with his semen, they both heard a knock at the door, pulling them both out of their frenzies.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle as Lewis huffed with annoyance, his face flushed with exertion as he glanced towards the door, a mixture of frustration and desire evident in his eyes as he shouted, still deep inside her, that they needed another hour to get ready.

The knocking persisted, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment, until finally, Lewis reluctantly pulled himself away from her, his body still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. With a muttered curse, he made his way to the door, his movements slightly unsteady as he attempted to compose himself and hide his lower part with a towel he grabbed going for the door

Y/N watched him, now propped up on her elbow on the bed, a playful smirk playing on her lips as she reveled in the sight of him, disheveled and breathless, his desire for her still evident in every line of his body.

As Lewis opened the door to reveal Daniel standing on the other side, a sheepish grin on his face, she couldn't help but laugh as Daniel’s brain processed the state of the room and Y/n wearing the glittery top on the bed, a gasp coming from his throat before he muttered "Right, another hour then?! Make it two.” Already on his way to his own room, hands on his eyes and Lewis closing the door.

“I think we could have some fun with that extra hour” his eyes darkening again as he approached her on the bed, his fingers finding his seed now seeping out of her pussy.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[aychama]

Bearer of the Red Crown's Birthday

"These pompous assholes." Narinder opened the door to escape outside and take a breather.

"They were never taught to shut the hell up were they?" He rubbed his temples and wondered why was their birthday gift to him was a headeache.

The calm but obnoxiously loud people inside the greathall had gathered to congradulate the King's birthday. Of course it was a big event and many of the nobles were attending. Some even travveled from the other kingdoms.

But to Narinder it was just a nuisance, just like how it was every year.

They had gathered to make connections, threaten eachother covertly or simply suck up to Narinder. He had to put up with these people and act like they wouldn't turn on him with the twirl of any one of his siblings finger.

He was just looking for a place to hide now but it seemed his hiding place was occupied by a slouched figure.

"Lambert?" Narinder noticed the figure in the corner next to the flower bushes.

"BAH!" They shout out a short bleat and turned towards him. Their funny noise and freaked out face was like a cold fresh water being splashed on Narinder's hot and aching head.

"My King! Please, you need to stop sneaking up on me..." Lambert sighed and got up.

Were they getting away from people too? That wasn't good. He had specifically told them to use this oppurtunity to make connections so they could have people helping them with their new lands troubles.

Just as he was about to start his lecture he noticed the neatly folded fabric in Lambert's hands.

"Is this..." he saw the little bow it was wrapped with.

A gift.

Lambert looked at the item in their hands, hesitated a little and presented it towards him.

"For you, yes."Narinder's fingers brushed Lambert's as he took it and started examining it. It was a red and white scarf.

"Aym and Baal said that you get cold easily so... I was actually going to knit it myself but it was way harder to do than I thought it would be. Haha..." They let out a defeated sigh hidden with a tired smile.

"I-it's not an expensive item I know but I-"

"It's made out of your wool." Narinder cut them off as he took off the bow and ran his fingers through the fabric. It was so, oh so soft. He didn't even have to bring his nose closer to it to know it smell like them.

"You can tell?" Lambert's face looked horrified, their smile dropping down as they looked up at him.

They suddenly reached out towards the scarf and started to pull it out of Narinder's hands.

"That's just weird isn't it? I-I knew it would be weird argh stupid Berith-"

"Wh- No!"Narinder did not let go of the scarf and it stretched between the two."Lambert no it's not weird." He looked at them hoping he sounded genuine.

"It's no secret that I like wool and this is perfect." Lambert stopped pulling and looked at Narinder, unsure.

He had gotten many presents today. So many that he lost count. So many things that he did not care. Jewelry, expensive items, some magical crystals, decorative weapons. Presents that were given to a King so that they wouldn't lose face or even worse, so that the noble families could look at eachother and say 'Look at how rich I am. The King surely likes me more than all of you so I can use him to scare you and get my way'. It was all so obvious and so shallow that he thought the amount of jewelry and necklaces were going to stuf his throat so much that he could drown without water.

But this,

This was from Lambert.

And it didn't have any underlying intentions.

Narinder slowly pulled the scarf from Lambert's hesitant hands.

"I remember reading a book when I was young."

He wrapped the scarf around his neck.

"It was about the culture of our folk."

He adjusted the scarf and both ends hung over his shoulders lovingly.

"And I remember reading that sheep-folk would give eachother gifts made out of their own wool to show their appreciation for eachother." He adjusted the scarf and looked at them to see the curiosity color their pretty face.

"Really?" Lambert asked and he nodded softly.

Narinder knew that Lambert wasn't taught of their own culture. It was...sad... but not unexpected. There wasn't really any sheep-folk in the 5 kingdoms other than them.

To think Shamura's old books he randomly decided to read would have a lot about sheep-folk in them. Too bad that wretched younger brother of his burnt down Shamura's library just because he was jealous Shamura would read books with Narinder... Narinder wishes that Shamura would have killed Leshy right then and there but they didn't. Soft hearted fool who went easy on all of their siblings but not on their enemies. And that included Narinder too.

Narinder shook his head to get rid of the hatred starting to boil up in his gut and focused on the scarf and Lambert. Their smell and their soft wool was all around him, quickly calming him down as he lowered his head to bury the bottom half of his face into the scarf.

He heard the softest giggle.

"You look silly."

Narinder opened his eyes, he didn't even know when he had closed them, and looked at Lambert.

They were smiling so soft and warmly at him. His throat clogged up again but he wasn't feeling bad this time.

"It's clashing with the rest of the jewelry badly."

He couldn't take his eyes off of Lambert's smile as they talked.

He thanked God that he always had his veil because he didn't think he could explain why he was looking at Lambert's smile like it was the only thing in the world.

"And it looks funny with your fancy clothes. Maybe I should have told Berith to make it look more expensive." Lambert laughed. If he could eat their voice he bet it would taste like fluffy candy, he thought.

The two heard some people talking about where the king has gone from inside and Narinder sighed.

Lambert reached towards Narinder's neck and tugged at the scarf.

"You need to go back in right? You can't just look like this in front of everyone. I'll put it next to the pile of gifts-"

He grabbed their arm and stopped them from taking the scarf.

"No." He said firmly.

"But-"

"Who said I would be going in alone? I remember telling a certain someone that they need to make connections because their poor decisions while ruling their own land had left them in a troubling state." He turned the conversation towards Lambert seemlessly to cover up whatever he was feeling right now.

"A-ah that! I have a little bit of a-no actually a big headache from talking with so many- soooo many people yknow?" Lambert stumbled over their words.

Narinder let the silence fall between them to show them he did not believe them.

"Let's go. I suppose I have to be the one to intruduce you to people." Narinder pulled Lambert by the arm that he had grabbed and walked towards the door.

"I'm- My King! You shouldn''t- you don't need to pull me!"

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.3

Chapter Three: Where Passion Meets Insane, Where Pleasure Kisses Pain

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, HEAVY SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Virgin Reader, PWP,

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: I was like… HRMMMM, do I write more canon plot or… and then I realized what was gonna happen in the next few chapters LMAO so here’s a little smut breather and very little plot. HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YA’LL!! Hope you are all safe and warm!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: “Slut!” (Taylor’s Version) (From the Vault) By Taylor Swift

gif by @pedrohub

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LUCILLA'S VILLA – NIGHTFALL

The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips, intoxicating and relentless, as if Marcus had poured every unspoken thought, every repressed feeling into the way his mouth moved against yours. His words echoed in your mind���I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you. It sent a shiver coursing down your spine, igniting something deep within, something you couldn’t deny any longer.

His hands, rough from years of battle, cupped your face as if you were something delicate. But there was no gentleness in the way he kissed you now, no hesitation in the way he pressed his body against yours, backing you against the cool stone wall. The chill of the marble was a stark contrast to the feverish heat building between you, and it stole your breath, made your head spin.

“Tell me to stop,” Marcus murmured against your lips, though his hands betrayed him, sliding down your sides, mapping every curve with reverence. His voice was raw, his breath heavy. “Tell me, and I will.”

But you didn’t want him to stop. The storm of emotions you’d been carrying—the fear, the anger, the longing—crashed over you, and for once, you let yourself drown. You pulled him closer, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his tunic, desperate to feel the solidness of him beneath your touch.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the admission barely audible but heavy with meaning.

Marcus groaned, a low, guttural sound that reverberated through your chest, and his restraint seemed to snap. His lips found yours again, more demanding this time, his teeth grazing your lower lip before he soothed it with his tongue. Your knees threatened to buckle under the weight of it all, but his strong arm slipped around your waist, holding you steady, keeping you pressed firmly against him.

His free hand moved to the tie of your tunic, his fingers working deftly to loosen the knot. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a whisper of silk. The cool night air kissed your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Marcus’s touch as his hands roamed, calloused yet gentle, reverent as they traced the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe. His forehead pressed against yours, his dark eyes searching your face as if memorizing every detail. “You don’t even realize, do you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were stolen by his lips, trailing a searing path down your jaw, your neck, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was deliberate, lingering, as if he was savoring the taste of you, the feel of you. You gasped as his teeth grazed your collarbone, a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue that followed, soothing the sting.

“Marcus…” you whispered his name, a prayer and a plea, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him look up at you. His gaze burned, dark and smoldering, filled with a hunger that made your breath catch.

“Say it again,” he urged, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Say my name.”

“Marcus,” you repeated, your voice trembling, and the way his name fell from your lips seemed to unravel him completely.

He lifted you effortlessly, his hands firm on your thighs as he carried you across the room. The faint flicker of the lantern cast shadows on the walls, dancing in time with the pounding of your heart. He laid you down on the soft cushions of the divan, his body covering yours in an instant, his weight grounding you, anchoring you to this moment.

The room was cloaked in the soft glow of lantern light, their flickering flames painting golden shadows over the marble walls and silk-draped furniture. Outside, the distant chirping of cicadas filled the balmy Roman night, but inside, the air was heavy, dense with an unspoken need that had simmered for too long.  

Marcus knelt before you, his strong hands resting on your knees, thumbs brushing your skin with a reverence that made you shiver. His armor had been shed, and in its absence, he was entirely human—scarred, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly vulnerable in the dim light. His dark eyes, which had once commanded armies, now looked up at you with quiet devotion.  

"Do not hide from me," he murmured as you instinctively tried to press your legs together. His voice, roughened by years of shouting orders in battle, softened into something low and coaxing, almost tender. With a deliberate motion, his hands slid higher, spreading your thighs once more. “Where do you think you’re going? There is nothing about you I do not wish to see. Nothing that is not worthy of my adoration.”  

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation, as his words wrapped around you like a silk thread. “Marcus, I—” you started, but he silenced you with a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, trailing higher with each one.  

���Don’t be shy,” he said, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your thigh. “Not with me. Never with me.”  

Each kiss he pressed to your skin was deliberate, each touch of his hands a quiet plea for you to trust him. “Do you know how many nights I have lain awake, tormented by the thought of you?” he murmured, his voice thick with longing. “I have fought battles, stared death in the face, but nothing has ever made my heart quake as you do. You are more than perfect—you are divine.”  

Your breath hitched as his lips traveled closer to your center. His hands slid beneath you, lifting you slightly as he positioned himself, his gaze locked onto yours, unyielding in its intensity. “I’ve been wanting to taste you,” he admitted, his voice husky and low, like a prayer whispered in a temple. “To know the sweetness of you, like honeyed figs kissed by the sun.”  

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

His answering smile was tender, his lips brushing against the crease of your thigh as he spoke. “More certain than I have ever been of anything. Let me worship you, my love.”  

And then his mouth was on you, and the world around you ceased to exist. His tongue moved with slow precision, tasting, teasing, as if savoring every moment. The first deliberate stroke sent a shiver through you, your hands flying to his hair, tangling in the dark curls.  

“Marcus,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea.  

“Speak my name again,” he murmured against you, his lips curling into a smile before he kissed you there once more, his tongue delving deeper. The sounds he made—low hums of satisfaction, quiet groans of need—mixed with the sinful wetness of his mouth on you, creating a symphony that left you trembling.  

“You taste of the gods’ own nectar,” he said between strokes, his voice rough yet reverent. “Do you feel how your body responds to me? Do you see how beautiful you are in this moment?”  

Your legs wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, holding him in place as your hips moved of their own accord, chasing the pleasure he so expertly provided. His strong hands gripped your thighs, his thumbs pressing into your flesh as he guided your movements, his tongue unrelenting in its worship.  

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice muffled but insistent, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.  

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice cracking with desperation.  

“You are magnificent,” he praised, his lips glistening as he spoke. “Every part of you—every sound, every tremble, every gasp. You are shaped by the gods themselves, and I am but a humble man, unworthy of such a gift.”  

His words were your undoing. The wave of pleasure built steadily, cresting higher and higher until it finally broke, crashing over you with an intensity that left you gasping for air. Your back arched, your cries echoing through the villa, shameless and unrestrained.  

When you came down, Marcus was still between your thighs, pressing gentle kisses to your skin as if soothing you, his hands rubbing slow circles over your hips. He rose then, his broad form towering over you as he began to untie the fastenings of his tunic. The fabric fell away, revealing his body in its entirety—sculpted muscle, battle-worn scars, and a thick, throbbing length that left your breath hitching anew.  

Your gaze faltered, nerves creeping in despite the intimacy you had just shared. “General—” you began, your voice trembling.  

Marcus knelt beside you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes softened. “What is it, my love?”  

“I…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “I’ve never… I’m a virgin. My maidenhood—it’s still intact. I’ve never been with anyone before.”  

A flicker of something passed over his face—surprise, perhaps, followed swiftly by understanding. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “My Carissima,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “You honor me with your trust. I will not hurt you, I swear it. If this is too much, if you wish for me to stop—”  

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “I want this. I want you. I just… I don’t know what to do.”  

He smiled then, a small, reassuring smile that melted your fears. “You need only let me guide you,” he said, his lips brushing against yours. “Let me show you how deeply I cherish you.”  

Positioning himself between your thighs, Marcus moved with painstaking care. His hand guided himself to your entrance, his other hand cradling your hip as he pushed forward slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense, the fullness overwhelming, but his murmured reassurances kept you grounded.  

“You’re mine to touch,” he groaned, his voice rough with restraint as he stilled, giving you time to adjust. “And no one else’s. My Carissima, my heart, my everything.”  

When you nodded, he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, building a rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure racing through you. The intensity of it all—the closeness, the way his body fit against yours—was almost too much to bear.  

“You feel like heaven,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your temple as his pace quickened. “The gods themselves could not have fashioned a more perfect being.”  

“Marcus,” you moaned, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure built once more. “You’re… so good. You feel so good.”  

“And you,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion as he thrust deeper, “are mine. Forever.”  

As your release swept over you, his followed, his body trembling as he spilled into you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours as the world faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the quiet aftermath of your love.  

"You are everything to me," he whispered, his voice a soft rumble. "And I will spend the rest of my life proving it."  

The air in your quarters was warm and hushed, the faint sounds of the countryside drifting through the open window. The two of you lay tangled together on the soft linen sheets, your head resting on Marcus’s chest, the rise and fall of his breathing a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His arms wrapped securely around you, one hand stroking lazy patterns along your back while the other cradled your hand against his heart.  

It felt as though the world had paused just for the two of you. Yet, even in the quiet, questions tugged at the edges of your mind. You shifted slightly, tilting your head up to look at him.  

“Marcus?” you murmured, your voice soft.  

His dark eyes, softened by the glow of the nearby lantern, met yours immediately. “Yes, Carissima?”  

You hesitated, unsure of how to frame the thoughts swirling in your mind. “Earlier,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “When you said… when you spoke of marrying me. Did you mean it?”  

His brows furrowed, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Of course I meant it,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “Do you think me a man who speaks empty words?”  

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. “No, it’s not that. I just… it’s hard to believe.”  

Marcus shifted, propping himself up slightly on his elbow so he could better look at you. The hand on your back moved to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. “And why is it so hard to believe, my love?”  

“Because you’re… you. A celebrated general, a man of honor and renown. You’ve seen the world, led armies, stood before emperors. And I’m just…”  

“You are not just anything,” he interrupted firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are extraordinary. You are kind, brave, intelligent, and more beautiful than even the gods could have imagined. The stars themselves dim in comparison to you.”  

Your cheeks flushed at his words, your fingers toying nervously with the edge of the blanket. “You make me sound like a goddess.”  

“To me, you are,” he said simply.  

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound lightening the weight in your chest. “Marcus, you could charm the toga off anyone.”  

He grinned, his hand sliding down to rest against the curve of your waist. “And yet, it is only you I wish to charm.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “Do you always speak so eloquently, or is this a skill you’ve honed just for me?”  

“Only for you,” he admitted with a teasing smirk. “Though it seems my words are not enough to convince you.” His expression turned serious again, his gaze locking with yours. “Let me make it clear: I meant every word I said. I do not take such vows lightly. If you would have me, I would make you my wife, not just in words but in every sense. I would bind my life to yours, as surely as the gods bind the heavens and earth.”  

Your heart swelled, his declaration filling you with a warmth you couldn’t describe. “You really mean it?”  

Marcus leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I swear it,” he said softly. “I am a man of honor. And I will honor you for the rest of my days, if you’ll let me.”  

You reached up to trace the line of his jaw, your fingers brushing over the faint stubble there. “You’re serious,” you said, more to yourself than to him.  

“Deadly serious,” he confirmed, his lips quirking into a small smile.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes. “You’d really want to marry me?”  

“By Jupiter, woman,” he said with a laugh, his head tilting back in amusement. “How many times must I say it before you believe me?”  

“Well, you’ve had a long career of convincing people to follow you into battle,” you teased, unable to help yourself. “Maybe you’re just good at persuasion.”  

Marcus grinned, his fingers tracing circles along your hip. “It seems I’ll need to work harder to persuade you of my love. Perhaps I should start planning the wedding now. Lucilla will help, I’m sure. She’ll insist on flowers—too many, knowing her taste.”  

“Marcus!” you exclaimed, laughing as you lightly smacked his chest.  

He caught your hand easily, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “What? It’s only practical. We’ll need to secure a date, find a priest…”  

You shook your head, your laughter bubbling over. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet, you love me,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and certainty.  

You sighed dramatically, though your smile betrayed you. “I suppose I do.”  

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. “Good,” he murmured against your hair. “Because I love you. And I’ll spend every day proving it, until there is not a soul left in Rome who doubts how much you mean to me.”  

The two of you lay in silence for a while, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm embrace. Eventually, your voice broke the quiet.  

“What about the villa?” you asked, a playful glint in your eye.  

“What about it?” he replied, his tone light.  

“I think we woke everyone within a mile,” you said, your cheeks flushing slightly at the memory.  

Marcus laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Let them hear,” he said, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let them know that the gods themselves would envy what we have.”  

You laughed softly, curling closer to him. “You truly are impossible.”  

“And yet,” he said again, his voice low and filled with love, “I am yours. Entirely.”  

You smiled against his chest, your doubts melting away in the warmth of his embrace.

The morning light streamed gently through the open window, casting a golden glow over the room. The scent of olive oil and faint lavender lingered in the air. You stirred slowly, the warmth of the sun on your face a quiet beckon to wakefulness. But what truly brought you back to consciousness was the solid, comforting weight wrapped securely around your waist.  

You fluttered your eyes open, greeted by the sight of Marcus’s bare chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. His strong arm was draped over your side, holding you close to him, as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. The golden rays of dawn played over his tan skin, highlighting the faint lines of battle-worn scars and the softer edges of his relaxed expression.  

A slow smile spread across your lips as you tilted your head slightly to take him in, his dark hair tousled, his face softened by the peace of slumber. For all his strength and stoicism, here, in the quiet sanctuary of the villa, he looked impossibly serene.  

Careful not to disturb him, you shifted slightly—but not enough, it seemed. His grip around you tightened instinctively, and you heard his voice, rough with sleep, murmur against your hair.  

“Where do you think you’re going?”  

A laugh bubbled from you, light and soft as you turned to face him. “I didn’t realize I was trapped,” you teased, raising a brow.  

His eyes opened lazily, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You are, Carissima. And I’m afraid I cannot let you escape.”  

“Oh? And what if I must escape to eat? Or bathe?”  

His smirk deepened, and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his stubble brushing against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. “I’ve already anticipated your needs,” he murmured, his lips moving against your skin.  

“Have you now?” you asked, feigning skepticism.  

“I have,” he confirmed, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. “I’ve asked the servants to prepare a bath for us. And breakfast.”  

Before you could respond, your stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the intimate moment. You froze, wide-eyed, as Marcus let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through his chest.  

“Ah,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “It seems your body agrees with me.”  

You groaned, hiding your face against his chest. “How mortifying.”  

“No,” he said, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “How adorable.”  

You gave him a playful glare. “You’re insufferable.”  

“And yet, you’re smiling,” he pointed out, his thumb brushing over the corner of your lips.  

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in your chest couldn’t be denied. “Perhaps because you spoil me.”  

Marcus’s expression softened, his hand cupping your cheek. “It is no less than you deserve,” he said, his voice low and earnest.  

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned up to kiss him. It started soft, a gentle press of lips that carried the unspoken gratitude and affection you couldn’t quite put into words. But as his hand slid into your hair and his other arm tightened around you, the kiss deepened, a shared warmth spreading between you.  

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier. His forehead rested against yours, his lips curving into a small smile. “Your smile,” he said quietly, “is brighter than the sun itself. How could I not kiss you?”  

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his shoulder. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”  

“It’s a skill,” he admitted, his tone light with humor. “One I intend to use often to keep you smiling.”  

Your stomach grumbled again, and you couldn’t help but laugh, burying your face against his chest. “Perhaps we should take advantage of that breakfast you mentioned.”  

“Agreed,” he said with a grin, shifting to sit up and pulling you with him.  

He pressed a quick kiss to your temple as he rose, his hand sliding down to help you to your feet. “Come, Carissima. A bath awaits us, and after, I’ll ensure you’re well-fed. Today, I will spoil you completely.”  

“And tomorrow?” you asked, teasing.  

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. “Tomorrow, I’ll do the same. And every day after.”  

Your heart felt impossibly full as you let him lead you toward the promise of warmth and comfort, his hand never letting go of yours.

LUCILLA'S VILLA, COURTYARD — DAY  

The courtyard was bathed in sunlight, the warmth of the morning offset by the gentle breeze rustling through the olive trees. The scent of fresh herbs and blooming flowers mingled with the distant hum of the villa’s daily activity. Marcus held your hand firmly in his as you walked together, his presence as steady as the ground beneath your feet.  

Several servants paused in their tasks to glance your way, their gazes filled with curiosity, but none dared to linger under Marcus’s protective glare. A few exchanged knowing smiles, their approval subtle but apparent.  

You leaned closer to Marcus, your voice low. “They’re looking at us.”  

“They will look,” he replied simply, his tone resolute. “But they will also understand. Let anyone question our bond—I will silence them with ease.”  

You smiled at his fierce protectiveness, but your attention was soon drawn to the sight ahead. In the center of the courtyard sat Lucilla, resplendent in a flowing gown of pale blue, her golden hair catching the sunlight. Across from her was Macrinus, impeccably dressed and deeply engaged in conversation with the former empress.  

You hesitated, your steps slowing. “Did you know they were here?” you murmured to Marcus, keeping your voice just for him.  

His brow furrowed, the faintest hint of annoyance flashing in his dark eyes. “I did not, Carissima.” His gaze lingered on Macrinus, and you could almost hear the unspoken tension in his silence. “I wonder what Lucilla is plotting this time.”  

As you approached, Lucilla’s sharp eyes flicked up to meet yours, her expression poised and welcoming. “Ah,” she said, her voice smooth as honey. “The villa’s esteemed healer and our dear General Acacius.” She gestured gracefully to the table. “Do join us. It is not often we are graced with such esteemed company.”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his grip on your hand remained firm as he guided you to the table. Lucilla’s greeting was pointed, her choice of words deliberate. She seemed to delight in the subtle power play, her eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as she gestured to the seat beside her.  

“Good morning,” you said politely, offering a small smile as you sat. Marcus settled beside you, his movements measured and deliberate, like a lion circling its prey.  

“Good morning,” Macrinus said, inclining his head toward you both. His tone was polite, though his gaze lingered a fraction too long on you before flickering uneasily to Marcus.  

“Macrinus,” Marcus greeted curtly, his voice a low rumble. He did not bother to hide his displeasure at the man’s presence.  

Lucilla sipped delicately from her goblet, her smile as serene as ever. “Macrinus was just sharing his thoughts on the upcoming games and his gladiators. Always such a wealth of information.”  

“Indeed,” Marcus replied, his tone flat, his focus unwavering on the man before him.  

Sensing the brewing tension, you leaned in slightly toward Marcus and murmured, “Play nice.”  

He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “For you, Carissima, I will try.”  

Macrinus, perhaps sensing the unspoken battle of wills, rose from his seat and bowed politely. “I should take my leave. My gladiators await.”  

Lucilla stood as well, her expression betraying nothing but grace. “I’ll see you out, Macrinus.” She turned to you and Marcus, her gaze lingering for a beat longer than necessary. “Enjoy the courtyard. I’ll return shortly.”  

The pair departed, leaving you and Marcus alone amidst the tranquility of the courtyard. You exhaled softly, feeling the tension dissipate with their exit.  

“Did I seem too harsh?” Marcus asked after a moment, his voice quieter now, reserved just for you.  

You shook your head, smiling. “Not harsh. Just… protective.”  

“Good,” he said, his tone resolute. “Because protective is precisely what I mean to be.”  

His fingers brushed against yours where they rested on the table, a subtle but deliberate gesture that sent warmth coursing through you.  

“You must really dislike him,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.  

Marcus huffed a small laugh, leaning closer. “I simply dislike anyone who looks at you longer than they should.”  

“Jealous, General?” you asked, tilting your head to meet his gaze, your smile playful.  

He smirked, the tension from earlier melting away. “I am a man, Carissima. And you are far too radiant for anyone to gaze upon without desire. My jealousy is merely… natural.”  

You laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, and Marcus leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. “Your happiness,” he murmured, “is all I care for.”  

As you reached for the bowl of ripe fruit in the center of the table, your stomach growled audibly, breaking the tender moment. You froze, cheeks warming, and Marcus chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made your heart flutter.  

“I see your appetite is as fierce as your wit,” he teased, plucking a honeydew slice and offering it to you.  

“You’ll never let me live that down,” you said, accepting the fruit and taking a bite, the sweetness bursting on your tongue.  

“Never,” he agreed, his smile softening as he watched you. “But only because I adore every part of you.”  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. Marcus reached for another slice, his movements unhurried and deliberate, as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here, with you.

“Lucilla’s plans will wait,” he said again, his voice softer now, as if solidifying his earlier declaration. “The world can plot and conspire all it likes. Right now, my only concern is you.”  

The table before you was laden with fresh fruits, warm bread, honeyed figs, and steaming bowls of spiced porridge. Marcus sat beside you, closer than necessary, his every movement deliberate and steady, as if he had all the time in the world.  

You reached for a piece of bread, but Marcus intercepted, plucking it from the platter himself. He smeared a generous layer of honey over it and held it to your lips, his expression unwavering.  

“Open,” he commanded softly, his tone leaving little room for argument but still laced with warmth.  

You arched a brow, smirking. “Am I incapable of feeding myself, General?”  

“No,” he replied, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “But where is the pleasure in that? Let me serve you for once.”  

You gave in, parting your lips to take a bite. The sweet honey melted on your tongue, and Marcus watched you intently, his gaze darkening as if committing the moment to memory.  

“Perfect,” he murmured, as if to himself.  

You swallowed, tilting your head at him. “You’re staring, Marcus.”  

“Am I?” he asked, unabashed. His tone was rich with amusement, his eyes never leaving yours. “Forgive me, Carissima. I’ve spent a lifetime studying maps and battle strategies. I never imagined something—someone—could captivate me so utterly.”  

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a warmth that had little to do with the sun. You plucked a ripe fig from the table and held it to his lips. “Your turn, General. Or is it only the conqueror who gets to indulge?”  

His smirk widened, but he leaned forward obediently, his lips brushing your fingertips as he took the fruit. The touch was deliberate, lingering, sending a shiver through you. “Bewitching,” he said after swallowing, his voice low and reverent.  

“You keep saying that,” you teased, though your cheeks warmed.  

“And I will say it again,” he replied, turning slightly in his seat to face you fully. “The gods and goddesses must have woven you from starlight and fire, Carissima. How else could you hold a man like me captive with just a glance?”  

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You, Marcus? A captive? Never.”  

He reached for your hand, his fingers rough but careful as they laced with yours. “Oh, but I am,” he said, his voice dipping into something almost vulnerable. “Do you think me a man who often takes what he desires for himself? My life has been devoted to duty, to others. But you… you are different. For the first time, I am conquering not for Rome, but for myself.”  

Your breath caught as he leaned closer, his other hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “And what will you do once I am conquered?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

His lips twitched into a smile, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Cherish you,” he said simply, his voice heavy with promise.  

Before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as gentle as it was consuming. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were something fragile and precious.  

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he sighed softly. “You undo me, Carissima. Do you know that?”  

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. “And here I thought I was merely feeding you breakfast.”  

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Breakfast, perhaps. But your very presence sustains me in ways I cannot explain.”  

Your stomach growled again, breaking the moment with a comical twist. You covered your face, laughing, and Marcus threw his head back, a genuine, hearty laugh escaping him.  

“I see my attentions have distracted you from more pressing needs,” he teased, reaching for another slice of honey-drizzled bread. “Eat, my love. I’ve already asked the servants to prepare more if this is not enough. You must be well-fed.”  

“You’re relentless,” you said, shaking your head but smiling brightly as you accepted the bread.  

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice soft. “Only for you. Always for you.”  

As you ate, he continued to feed you bites of fruit and bread, his gaze never straying far from your face. The affection in his every action was undeniable, and you felt your heart swell with a happiness you hadn’t thought possible.  

And as the sunlight warmed the courtyard and the day unfolded, you found yourself thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, the gods had indeed had a hand in your meeting this remarkable man.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — EVENING

The quiet evening air carried the scent of lavender and olive oil from the flickering lamps. You stood in the middle of Lucilla’s villa, the cool stone beneath your bare feet grounding you. Marcus’ hand gripped yours tightly, his calloused fingers steadying both of you as you awaited the news Lucilla had summoned you for. The stillness between you felt heavy, the weight of anticipation palpable.  

Lucilla stepped into the room, her hooded cloak trailing behind her like a shadow. She paused as if collecting herself, then removed her hood, revealing a face etched with worry and something deeper—a mother’s anguish. Her eyes flicked between the two of you before she looked heavenward, her lips moving silently, perhaps in a prayer to the gods for strength.  

When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but thick with emotion. “Lucius is alive.”  

The words struck like a thunderbolt. You inhaled sharply, your hand instinctively tightening around Marcus’. His brow furrowed deeply, the weight of her statement sinking in. “Are you certain?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.  

“I know my son,” Lucilla said firmly, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I spoke to him tonight.” She stepped closer, her composure faltering as she added, “He may be lost to me for what I’ve done... but he lives.”  

You glanced at Marcus, his jaw tight as he processed her words. His grip on your hand became almost protective, pulling you a step closer. “The third day of games is tomorrow,” he said grimly. “Most fighters won’t survive.”  

Lucilla nodded, her tears now spilling freely. “Acacius, you must help him.”  

Marcus’ expression hardened. “Help him?” he asked, his voice measured.  

“Yes!” Lucilla exclaimed, her desperation breaking through. She looked at him imploringly, her hands trembling as she clutched at the fabric of her cloak. “I failed him then. I know I did. But I cannot fail him now.”  

Marcus stood rigid, his silence heavy with conflict. “The army is in Ostia,” he began, his tone even but his words deliberate. “If we wait a few days—”  

“He could be dead by then!” Lucilla interrupted, her voice cracking with urgency. She stepped closer, her hands reaching out as though trying to physically pull him toward her cause. “Acacius, I would willingly give my life for Rome, but I will not give my son’s.”  

Her words hung in the air like a plea to the gods themselves.  

You finally found your voice, stepping forward just slightly, your free hand reaching out to rest gently on Lucilla’s arm. “What is the plan?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the strength of someone who understood both loss and resilience.  

Lucilla turned to you, her expression softening but still filled with despair. “There is no plan,” she admitted. “Only hope. Hope that you will do what I could not.”  

Marcus let out a slow exhale, his eyes narrowing as he considered the weight of the task ahead. “If we are to act,” he said, his voice firm, “we act now. No hesitation, no missteps.”  

You looked at him, your heart swelling with both admiration and concern. “Marcus…”  

His gaze shifted to you, softening for just a moment. “I will not stand idly by while an innocent man dies,” he said, his tone resolute. “Especially not Lucius.”  

Lucilla nodded, a flicker of hope returning to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.  

Marcus turned to you fully then, his hand releasing yours to cradle your face. “I will do this,” he said, his voice low but unyielding. “But you… you must stay safe.”  

Your eyes searched his, seeing both the unshakable general and the man who had claimed your heart. “And if I said no?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze remained serious. “Then I would spend the rest of my days ensuring your safety, even if it means carrying you out of harm’s way myself.”  

You couldn’t help but smile despite the weight of the moment pressing against your chest. “Then I suppose I shall try to stay out of trouble,” you said softly, though a glint of defiance sparked in your eyes. “But I will help you, Marcus, and you cannot stop me.”  

His expression flickered with something between amusement and frustration, but it softened almost immediately. “Carissima,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, like honey drizzled over flame. “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met. And I have led legions.”  

His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. His gaze bore into yours, not with the command of a general, but with the quiet reverence of a man hopelessly, irrevocably smitten. “But I would not have you any other way,” he added, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.  

The tenderness of the moment struck you like a warm tide, soothing yet unrelenting. You closed your eyes, feeling the press of his lips against your skin, a silent promise that spoke louder than any oath.  

When he pulled back, his fingers lingered for a moment, tracing the curve of your jaw before dropping to your shoulder. His touch was grounding, steadying you amidst the chaos swirling around you both.  

Lucilla’s voice broke through the quiet, calling your attention back to the task ahead. Yet even as you turned to face her, your eyes found Marcus’ once more.  

As the three of you moved through the villa, the air seemed charged with energy. Fear and uncertainty hung like a shroud, but beneath it all was something more profound—a determination, an unspoken bond tethering you to him.  

You glanced at Marcus, the firelight dancing across his features, his profile sharp and commanding. But it wasn’t the image of the general that held your heart—it was the man beneath. The one who had whispered your name like a prayer and held you as though you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.  

Where passion met insanity, where pleasure kissed pain, you felt the pull of something greater, something that transcended the fleeting world of men. If the oceans roared and struck, if the Elysian Fields itself lost its light, you knew without hesitation that you would stand at his side.  

You let your breath hitch for a moment, clinging to the fragile, beautiful thing you dared to call love. And in the stillness of that resolve, you tightened your grip on Marcus’ hand, silently vowing to meet whatever came with him, no matter the cost.